


Supposed Matrimonial Bliss.

by Koscheyyy



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Dysfunctional Relationship, Established Relationship, Fighting, Fluff, M/M, Making Up, Mentions of Sex, Spoilers for The Magnus Archives Season 4
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-31
Updated: 2021-01-31
Packaged: 2021-03-17 21:08:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29106837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Koscheyyy/pseuds/Koscheyyy
Summary: Elias wants to cuddle. Peter is sure its a trap.
Relationships: Elias Bouchard/Peter Lukas
Comments: 6
Kudos: 46





	Supposed Matrimonial Bliss.

He doesn't know what he did. He never does. But this time it's a real conundrum. 

They’re laying in bed- or rather had been- breathless and boneless as their twin adrenaline highs began to simmer. Peter has been home for the good part of two weeks now and this is the usual routine. 

Wait for Elias to finish work. Shag his brains out. Sleep. Repeat. 

There wasn't usually this clinginess from Elias though. He loves routines as much as Peter and will often, exhausted and sticky, find solace on his side of the bed. They’d say their goodnights like any respectable couple and drift off into solitary dreamlands. 

But not tonight. No, Elias must want something. 

For he is plastered against Peter's side like a limpet, a leg hooked over Peter’s and an arm curled upon his chest. His manicured nails absently playing with Peter’s chest hair, he has a dazed sort of look in his eye. 

Maybe he wants more money? More sex? More….divorce? 

Peter is unsure, so he remains quiet. 

“How has your day been? Good?” Peter has to be careful not to laugh- who is this man? Was Elias body snatched and he simply didn’t realise? Did he smack his head when Peter threw him upon the bed and knock his malice loose? Whatever it was, it wasn’t natural. 

“...yes” it's all he can really think to say. The memories of the day are a mere blur to the conundrum that is Elias’s needling. 

Oh perhaps that's it. Perhaps he did something in between his binging of fishing documentaries and naps on the couch to warrant some silent rage from his husband. Did he leave wotsit dust on the remote again? 

Elias is still looking at him, moony eyed and smiling softly. He looks gorgeous, though Peter’s brain is too busy to register it. 

“What did you get up to?” As an unmistakable red herring Elias tucks his head under his husband’s jaw, to camouflage his certainly sinister intentions. He then lets out a pleased sigh before melting further into Peter’s side. 

“Not much” he’s careful to feel any shift in Elias’s demeanor as he freely gives the information; does the leg wrapped around his own squeeze tighter? Are the playful tugs on his chest now harsh plucks? Have the soft lips under his jaw dissolved into a cruel sneer? 

No. No, everything is fine. Everything is soft and playful and content. 

He swallows hard. 

“Aren't you going to ask me about my day?” Elias questions, sweet and unyielding. 

“What for?” 

Elias stares at him, the kisses halt and the fingers slow. 

“Because we’re married” the kisses start up again; Peter can feel the smile on Elias’s lips as he presses impossibly closer. “This is what married couples do, they talk” 

"Wait, being married means I have to talk to you?" It was an honest question- a rash and stupid question but a truthful one all the same. 

“Forget it” The snapping of this feverish dream is instant as Elias rolls over and gets out of bed, reaching for his discarded robe and underwear before leaving the bedroom. He doesn't spare a glance back at Peter as he goes. 

Peter lays in bed for a while. Thinking. About what? He's not entirely sure, it's more of a blend of emotions than coherent thoughts. Snippets of ideas and memories and feelings that wouldn’t really be considered independent thinking. Not in Elias's book anyway. 

Elias. 

Peter bites at his lip and stares at the pristine white of the ceiling. He remembers when they bought this house. His money but Elias's name. A wedding present. Elias had been so precise about the colours of every room, planning every detail and priming every contractor they went through- which was a lot since none of them could really capture Elias's vision. 

And who ever could? 

This room in particular was a problem. Elias wanted the definition of neutral but not lifeless. He wanted calm but not dead. He wanted muted but not lonely. 

Peter just left him to it. Listening to him boss about the carpenters, the painters, the poor interior designers as they all failed to see everything through his eyes. 

Peter pauses. Thinks for a moment. Pushes his tongue against his teeth as the penny finally drops. 

With a heavy sigh he pulls back the covers, don’s his robe and begins to seek out his scorned husband.

His footsteps are loud on the landing, weighted with a burden he cannot shirk from his shoulders. No matter how far he runs away from it. His ring feels tight upon his finger as if it senses the dawning moment for it to be removed again and shoved into his duffel bag, ready for sea. Absently he tugs at the platinum band to soothe that melancholy ache before moving on to Elias's office. 

He is always in his office. No matter his mood, the office is where he finds solitude. He sulks in there, drowning himself in scotch and paperwork. He de-stresses in there, untangling corporate knots in stupid graphs and he centres himself there, reclined in his dramatically gothic chair and Looking. Stress eating like a woman who's half way through a tub of ice cream, crying over why she can't have a relationship like Ben and Jerry's. 

Peter had made that remark once when he had found him in there, fattening his god to soothe emotional ache. After that Peter found himself with a more metaphysical ache of a stomped on foot. 

Peter decides to approach the office door with caution.

“ ‘Lias?” Peter calls out softly. 

Silence. 

He rasps on the door quietly, being polite and careful not to rack up any more ‘dog-house points’. Elias doesn't answer but Peter knows he's in there. He can feel the loneliness seeping out of the door like smoke clawing out from under the door. A pang of hurt- no that's not it- delight? Sorrow? Envy? Washes over Peter as the scent of forsaken absorbs into him like a shark scenting blood in the waves. 

He grabs the handle and pushes it down. It isn’t locked. It's never locked. Elias is too great a lover of dramatic confrontation to actively make an effort to keep his husband away. 

Peter absently thinks of the day when this door will be locked and he shudders to think of such a thing. 

Slowly, the door opens, silent on well oiled hinges. The landing’s light is a stark intruder to the darkness of the office, Peter's silhouette bold and broad upon the stylish carpet. It was one he bought from Salesa on his first voyage as a married man. It is of the Beholding with it’s beautiful golds, greens and greys intertwined to make a pattern that you must admire from a distance to truly See it in it’s wholeness. 

Elias adores it. 

“Elias....?” He doesn't know why but his voice trembles. For a brief second his tongue darts out to wet his lip as tired eyes sweep the shadows “Jonah?” 

“Go away, Peter'' the raw voice of his beloved gives him away instantly. He's sitting in his chair, scrunched up like a child and weeping, though trying hard to stop. 

The brazen Lukas heir stands firm and turns on the light. 

“You'll ruin your eyes sat in the dark” unsure of what approach to take he fumbles with tightening his robe’s belt, “just look at Rayner” 

Comedy is decidedly the wrong path as Elias glares at him. The personification of vitriol and simmering disgust uncurling itself from his husband's chair as it squints at him in the harsh light. 

“I am in no mood” Elias grumbles, cold eyes sharpening with focus.

“Is that why you're pouting with your books?” Perhaps going on the defensive would be better? Peter glances at the ceiling high stacks of journals, biographies, fiction and fact; acting nonchalant in his admiration. 

“No, but it is why you’ve come running to me like a wounded dog” defensive is not a victorious position when going against the infamous Bouchard. “I repeat, Go away, Peter” 

“Hmm, no” fond annoyance is much more Peter’s style as he begins to wander the room, always keeping an eye on his husband. Watching the way he swings the end of his gowns cord like a cat swishing its tail with unease. “You wanted to talk, so let's talk” 

“You wanted to be silent, so be silent” 

Peter ignores the sting of the silver tongue as he paroles the west wall, eyeing the suspicious volumes as he thinks of a way to defuse the bomb that is his spouse. A detonation in such a compact room just wouldn’t be good for the woodwork. 

“I'm sorry” 

Not it. 

“Try again” Elias commands, less than impressed as he watches Peter try to cover the false move. 

“Elias please-“

“No” 

Peter pauses and thinks. Really thinks. Not just smatterings of incomplete phrases being chucked in a blender and ground down to a barely comprehensible mush. No. Now he Thinks. 

And for a moment there is silence. Blissful silence. The forsaken pulls at the edge of his robe, blocks his throat like a frozen lump of coal and drags its nails down his back like a faceless lover. He is on a razors edge. To tip too much on one side will have dire consequences. 

Before him sits his husband, impatient, fiery and unpredictable and behind him awaits his god; cool, quiet and understanding. 

For that one moment he thinks and steps forward. 

“I...” the words die on his tongue, curdling like sour milk as Elias looks at him- looks through him. So piercing and gorgeous and his. “Forgive me” quietly he bows his head, fingers playing with the cord of his gown as the eyes of his spouse bear down upon him.

For a moment there is silence. Not lonely, empty silence. It is so loud. Filled with the rapid thump of his heart, the settling of shadows over the furniture and the impatient eye roll of his beloved. A cacophony of minute details amped up to be so unbearable, making him instinctively shrink back. 

Then Elias is before him, standing in his purple velvet robe, unimpressed and smelling faintly of their intimacy that seems so long ago now. 

“I do” a kiss, so small and insignificant is pressed to his brow and all is forgiven, “silly” 

Peter could very much call him ‘ridiculous’ and ‘pompous’ and an ‘absurdly dramatic dickhead’ but Elias smiles at him and he knows he can read it on Peter's face already. So his shoulders slag and his eyes soften. 

“Let's go back to bed” he places a tentative kiss on Elias's knuckles as they leave the office behind, locking the door. 

Back in the comfort of their marital bed do they begin where they left off, Peter allowing Elias to press close; pushing back in turn. Their legs entwined and breathing slow. 

“So….what did you do today?” It's a shot in the dark really but this is what Elias wants so he will make a marginal effort. 

“Hmm, you're sweet” Elias grins, voice sarcastic as he leans on Peter’s side; playful. 

“I mean it” Peter’s hand presses against the small of Elias’s back, pulling him closer, “tell me” 

A brief flush creeps along Elias’s face as he takes a moment to think upon his husband. He looks genuine- well as genuine as Peter can look with his scruffy beard and mussed up hair. His eyes are soft though uncertain as he tastes the words of ‘caring’ on his tongue. 

Elias is still mad, he's always mad. Going about their marriage, collecting arguments and picking at loose threads until it finally causes their tower to topple. Though for now he can overlook the mishap, happy to lay with his husband and simply be. 

It isn't normal or routine or remotely something that they do. But for this one rare glimpse they can hold and be held, settling into supposed matrimonial bliss.

**Author's Note:**

> Discord made me do it! 
> 
> Hope you enjoyed these bastards being idiots! Kudos and comments are appreciated! 💜💜💜


End file.
